


Delirium

by ellay_gee



Series: Whump/Inktober 2019 [3]
Category: Hardy Boys - Franklin W. Dixon, Hardy Boys/Nancy Drew Mysteries (TV)
Genre: Delirium, Gen, Sickfic, Whumptober 2019, mentions Fenton Hardy and Iola Morten, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-23 06:33:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20887682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellay_gee/pseuds/ellay_gee
Summary: Joe tried to warn them. He tried to warn them all.





	Delirium

**Author's Note:**

> Hellooo! I've always loved the Hardy Boys, but this is my first time writing fic for them. I hope you enjoy my first Whumptober story! This is part of a series that me and my good pal MsC are working on, so will be multi-fandom.

“…saw a man today. Out in…in the yard.” Joe muttered to Frank as the elder brother changed out the washcloth plastered against the younger’s forehead.

Frank shook his head, humming to himself in worry. Joe’d been sick for two days now; something swift and strong taking him by surprise and putting him out for the count. His fevered blue eyes stared through Frank, making him shiver.

“You haven’t been out of bed today, Joe.”

The blonde smacked his lips together, looking vaguely surprised. “Oh.”

“Yeah, get some sleep, okay?” Frank smiled vaguely to his brother, pulling the blanket up around his shoulders.

Joe was asleep again before Frank was out of the room.

* * *

Down in the kitchen, everything was nicer. He sat hunched upon a stool, the top half of his body lying haphazardly across the marble counter top, head resting against the cool surface.

“Your tea is almost done, sweetie.” His Aunt Gertrude said softly from across the room. She hummed to herself as she stirred in several heaping teaspoons of honey, the melody soothing Joe’s jumbled brain.

Through the window of the dining room, he spotted a man. The same man from before who’d been in their yard. At least, he thought there’d been a man yesterday.

“Aunt Gert,” he said, his voice rough and garbled like rocks in a blender. He tried to lift his arm to point, but it was too much effort. “Someone’s out there.”

“Out where?” She asked as she slid the steaming cup near Joe’s head.

He struggled to sit up, groaning as the room spun around him. “Outside.”

Frowning, his aunt went to the window, glancing around the front yard.

“No one’s there, Joey.” She turned back to him, hurrying to his side as he slid off of the stool. “Here, c’mon. Let’s get you to the couch. I’ll come back for the tea.”

“But—“

“No buts.” Her grip on him tightened as his body was wracked with a fit of coughs and they were forced to stop in the doorway.

She got him settled in the living room, propped up by pillows and covered up in a blanket with a faded cowboy print that she found in Frank’s room. She put the sports channel on for him, dropping a kiss on his head before she left him to doze.

* * *

“The doctor said plenty of rest and fluids. It’s a nasty sickness for sure, but he should be fine in a few days.” Laura reassured Fenton, who was in California on a case. She’d gotten worried for Joe when he slept for seventeen straight hours, only waking here and there and never coherent when he did.

She stood behind where Joe was dozing in his father’s recliner, gently stroking his sweat-soaked hair as she and her husband exchanged a few more murmured words.

When she hung up, she leaned down and called softly to her son. “Joe, honey? I hate to leave you alone, but I’ve got to go and get some groceries and fill your prescription. Your aunt and Frank are both out of the house till later. Will you be ok alone?”

Joe hummed, but didn’t open his eyes. “Wha bout the man?” He coughed, scrunching his face in pain.

“What man?” She asked furrowing her brow.

“I dunno.” He shrugged. “The man. S’outside. Saw ‘im earlier.”

She patted his shoulder gently. “Frank looked all around and he didn’t find a sign of anyone in the yard.”

Joe stared at her uncomprehending for a long moment, then let out a small huff. “Oh.”

“Ok, I should be back in a few hours. There’s some water and crackers here on the side table for you. Try not to get up if you can. Love you.”

And she was gone, and Joe was alone.

* * *

The day turned drizzly as he slept, though Joe was hardly aware. He was dreaming of taking Iola Morten for a long drive up the coast, watching the wind whip through her hair, her bright smile—much too big for her elfin face—eclipsing everything else in view.

They had just pulled over, and Joe was leaning over to capture those rosebud lips with his own when a sudden—

Rap!

RAP!

_RAP!_

—startled him from his doze. He wrapped himself in the old cowboy-print blanket, wearing it like a haphazard cape as he slogged his way to the door and the impatient visitor beyond.

“Can I help you?” He asked around a small fit of coughs to the man outside. It took him too long to realize the man was the same he’d been trying to tell his family about. He stood at the edge of the porch, just on Joe’s side of the rain.

He stared at Joe for a long moment, head cocked to the side. When he finally spoke, it was with a voice made of fire and hate. “Hardy residence?”

“Yeah?”

With an enraged scream, the man exploded forward, barreling into Joe and knocking him to the ground. Already disoriented, the blonde took too long to register what was happening and just stared dumbly as a hammy fist flew towards his face.

* * *

Frank was the first to arrive back home, after having spent the day with Phil Cohen helping code an app they were working on together.

His blood froze in his veins as he came up the walk, muddy footprints leading up the porch steps and to the door, which stood slightly ajar. He flattened himself against the side of the house, pulling out his phone and dialing the local number to the police station. He quickly hissed into the phone that there was a possible break-in, rattling off the address and hanging up before the dispatcher could warn him not to enter.

He pushed the door open quietly, eyes darting around the dark foyer. Breathing shallowly, he stepped inside, keeping his ears perked for any noise.

He was rewarded moments later when a rattling cough drew him to the kitchen.

Joe, a trail of drying blood and snot covering the bottom half of his face, sat on the floor near a man that Frank did not recognize. Their mother’s favorite cast-iron frying pan was loosely gripped in his hand.

He looked up at Frank pathetically, eyes red-rimmed and watery. “Tole you s’mbody was in the yard.” Joe muttered before promptly passing out.

* * *

Joe recovered from his fever two days later, barely remembering a thing about the attack itself. His nose took a little longer to heal, but Iola didn’t seem to mind babying him whenever they were together.

Chief Collig identified the man as one Edward Stone, an associate of one of their father’s recent collars. He kept a police detail on all of them for a few weeks, but after they’d decided that the man had been acting alone, they let the Hardys be.

And if Joe was a bit smug about how no one believed him just because he was sick, no one said a word.


End file.
